Standing at the pool’s edge, he planted his eyes on the V-shape of my body where my legs met at my hips, where I felt the water drip. I saw his brown irises turn hard and hungry.
The last time I'd been to my father's grave was the previous winter, for the dedication ceremony for his headstone. The wind gusted, bone-cold, and I didn't stay long. I wondered if Dad brokered a deal with God to make the weather unpleasant just to get back at me.